


Down to the Felt

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Betrayal, Blackmail, Dubious Consent, Intoxication, M/M, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-25
Updated: 2008-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:51:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a trip to Las Vegas, Peter’s tired of being ignored by Nathan, so he goes out for a night on the town and gets in over his head. Linderman rides to the rescue. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down to the Felt

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Anonymous Kink Meme II](http://perdiccas.livejournal.com/78788.html).

[](http://s562.photobucket.com/albums/ss62/HSFAWinter2009/?action=view&current=bestothermale.jpg)  


The only good thing about this otherwise wretched trip was the readily available alcohol. Vegas wasn’t really Peter’s kind of town. He didn’t care about gambling, he hated hanging around his father’s business associates, and he was getting frustrated with the way Nathan kept brushing him off. But alcohol was starting to make it better.

“Come to my room,” Peter had pleaded to his brother last night. Their plush rooms at the Corinthian offered plenty of privacy, and Peter was dying to break in the giant jacuzzi tub in his bathroom. “Tell Dad we’re going to a topless show. Then we’ll go back to my room and I’ll suck your cock.”

“No.” Nathan hadn’t even taken a moment to consider it, the bastard. “Dad and I have a meeting with Mr. Linderman.”

“All night? Come on, we haven’t had any time together in months. This is the perfect opportunity!”

“I have to go Peter.” He’d left without a backwards glance.

So tonight, Peter didn’t even ask. After suffering through a mind-numbing dinner with some of Dad’s old friends from law school, Peter slipped away to the Corinthian’s gaming floor. He wasn’t playing much: a hand of blackjack here and there, a toss of the dice at the craps table, but he kept offering sweet smiles to the cocktail waitresses and tipping them well, so before an hour had passed, he was well on his was to pleasantly drunk.

He was weaving away from the latest blackjack table with a fistful of chips when he stumbled into a broad chest and a pair of strong arms that caught and steadied him.

“Whoa there, buddy.” The guy had a few inches on Peter, and a few years, as well. He had the look of a professional, complete with suit and suggestively loosened tie. And he was handsome. But the suit was a tax bracket cheaper than anything Nathan would wear, and the guy’s eyes held a calculating, predatory glint that Nathan had long ago learned to hide.

“Sorry.” Peter leaned against the guy’s chest a moment longer than necessary before righting himself. “Didn’t see you there.”

“So…” The guy raked his eyes over Peter and raised an eyebrow. “You up or down, friend?”

Peter waved his handful of chips. “Up,” he said proudly.

The guy grinned. It made him look sleazy. “Me too. Need a refill?” He nodded at Peter’s empty glass.

Oh, this was a bad idea. Peter knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He took a quick glance around the casino. There was a good chance Nathan would come looking for him soon. Peter could imagine what he’d say if he saw Peter getting hit on by a guy like this. A slow grin spread over Peter’s face. It would certainly piss Nathan off, and no mistake. “I’d love one.”  
\--

An hour later, Peter had learned that Jack was a lawyer—perfect—from Pittsburg. They’d been sitting together at a roulette table, and Jack’s hand had been sliding steadily up Peter’s leg with every spin of the wheel until he was practically groping him. Peter smirked coyly, spread his legs around his stool, and scanned the crowd for Nathan. When he finally showed up, he’d be so pissed. Peter’s head buzzed with alcohol, and the casino buzzed and blinged around him, a glorious cacophony. He pushed around the pile of chips he’d accumulated. He felt powerful. He felt wonderful.

Jack appeared at his elbow and handed him another glass of Jack and coke—his second in twenty minutes. “How you doing, champ?”

“I’m still winning.” Peter gulped down half the drink, shivering as it burned down his throat. The whisky tasted bitter (more bitter than usual), and the last one had too, so maybe it was time to take a break from drinking. Or time to switch to vodka. “I must be a lucky guy.”

“Must be,” Jack said with a smile. “Wanna give me a kiss for luck?”

Peter hesitated. He shouldn’t be doing this. Leading Jack on just to piss Nathan off wasn’t fair. But the look on Nathan’s face when he caught Peter kissing this guy—this Nathan surrogate—out here in public would be priceless. And Peter was horny, damnit. He’d come on this trip expecting to spent lots of quality time with his brother, and Nathan had given him exactly zero satisfaction since they’d been here.

Jack leaned closer, and Peter found himself drifting forward, falling into an open-mouthed kiss. It couldn’t hurt just to kiss. Or to rub up against Jack, just a little. Jack wrapped his hands around the sharp curves of Peter’s hips and ground their bodies together so Peter could feel his erection.

“You playing?” the dealer asked. She was looking on indifferently.

“Yeah.” Jack pushed all of Peter’s chips onto red and resumed kissing him, invading Peter’s mouth with his tongue and grinding their hips together. Peter was starting to feel lightheaded. He didn’t think it was the whisky. Maybe it was the kissing.

“No more bets,” the dealer announced.

They both turned to watch the ball slow down. It fell into the pocket for 17. Red it was.

“Looks like it’s my lucky day,” Jack grinned. He scooped up Peter’s winnings and loaded the chips into his pockets. “Let’s go up to my room and celebrate.”

That wasn’t a good idea, but for the life of him, Peter couldn’t figure out why. “I feel weird,” Peter muttered. Not sick to his stomach, like the alcohol wanted to come back up, but sort of woozy and uncoordinated.

“We’ll get you a glass of water,” said Jack. “Come on.”

And then, somehow, they were standing in front of the elevators. Jack had his hands in the back pockets of Peter’s jeans, kneading his ass roughly, and he was doing his best to stick his tongue down Peter’s throat. Peter squirmed, but Jack shushed him. “Can’t wait to get you upstairs,” he said softly, and ground his clothed erection into Peter’s hip. “Gonna bend you over and stick my big fat dick in that sweet ass of yours, split you wide open.”

“Hey,” Peter protested, but he didn’t get further than that, because Jack licked Peter’s mouth until he shut up.

“You’re gonna love feeling me come inside you, kid. Just wait.”

The elevator in front of them dinged open and suddenly they were facing two frowning security guards. “Mr. Petrelli,” the first one said. “Come with me, please.”

Peter stood there blinking until the other security guard stepped out of the elevator and grabbed Jack by the elbow. “Come on, buddy. Mr. Linderman doesn’t take kindly to people being roofied in his casino.” He steered Jack down the hallway while the other guard held the elevator door.

“Mr. Petrelli?”

Peter stepped into the elevator.  
\--

Peter should have known. Linderman owned this casino, after all. But obviously Peter’s reasoning skills weren’t operating at their full capacity tonight. The security guard sat Peter down in a chair across from Daniel Linderman, “businessman” extraordinaire, in the spotlessly appointed front room of a suite. Peter suspected it might have been the penthouse, but he couldn’t be sure; he didn’t remember the elevator ride. He tried to count the number of drinks he’d had; he shouldn’t be this drunk.

“Waddaya want?” he asked Linderman. His words didn’t come out quite as strong or clear as he’d expected, but he counted it a victory that they’d come out at all.

“I’ll tell you what I don’t want,” Linderman said lightly. “I don’t want to explain to Arthur Petrelli why one of his sons made an imbecile of himself at my casino.”

“My dad doesn’t care what I do,” Peter grumbled.

“Perhaps.” Linderman settled back in his chair. “But I do, Peter. I expect great things from you.”

Peter was dizzy. He was finding it hard to concentrate on Linderman’s words. His hard-on was a heavy weight between his legs, and he realized belatedly that he should do something about that. While he was still trying to figure out what that something might be, Linderman said, “Come here, Peter.”

There was no denying the authority in that voice. Peter rose and staggered over to Linderman. He had to catch himself on the arm of the couch. Balancing had become a problem.

“Peter, what are we going to do with you?” Linderman slid a hand down Peter’s side to rest against his hip. It took Peter several seconds of staring at the hand to realize why it wasn’t appropriate.

“Only a troubled young man would exhibit the kind of behavior you did tonight.” He ran his thumb under the hem of Peter’s shirt to brush against his skin.

Peter shuddered at the brief touch. “I know…” He felt painfully sensitized and at the same time blissfully unaware. He let himself drift.  
\--

“Do you have any idea how much danger you were in. Peter?”

His pupils were blown wide, and although he met Linderman’s eyes, Peter didn’t seem to see him. He pulled Peter down onto the couch. “It’s a good thing I’ve taken an interest in you.” Linderman could see the drug working in Peter’s system, clear as an open wound. He could have fixed it easily; with just a tiny application of his power, he could clear the drug from Peter’s system and have him totally lucid. He could send him back to Arthur in disgrace, and his old friend would owe him another favor. Or. Maybe there was a better opportunity.

“What would your brother say if he could see you now?” he asked, and Peter was suddenly paying attention. So maybe there was something there. Linderman had noticed it last night at dinner when Peter had briefly come up. Arthur always talked about Peter with contempt, but Nathan, it was clear, had a different opinion. There was protectiveness there, and affection. Maybe even love. Perhaps the youngest Petrelli was a weapon better used against his brother.

“Let him,” Peter said belligerently. “He ignores me. And it’s none of your business.”

Linderman shook his head. “You made it my business, Peter, when you took up with a stranger in my hotel.” His hands went to Peter’s shirt and began unbuttoning it efficiently. “In any case, you’re really too beautiful a boy to be giving it away to just anyone.” He pushed Peter’s shirt off his shoulders and stripped off the t-shirt below, patiently tugging past uncoordinated limbs to expose the smooth, delightfully pale skin of Peter’s chest.

He gave into temptation for a moment, and ran both hands up Peter’s body, across too-skinny ribs and tight pecs. He brushed his thumb over Peter’s left nipple and enjoyed the way Peter arched his body up into the touch. “Oh Peter. You deserve someone who understands how special you are.” He went to work unbuckling Peter’s belt. “How special you’re going to become.

Linderman pulled the black leather belt off and looked at it appraisingly. It would probably leave welts, he decided. “Maybe next time,” he told Peter fondly. He went back to work unfastening Peter’s pants.

Peter was watching him intently. He could see Peter reasoning out, vague though his reasoning faculties must be by now, that he could still turn this situation to his advantage. “Nathan wouldn’t like that I was doing this,” Peter said. Then a smile spread over his face. He leaned up to plant a kiss on Linderman’s lips, uncoordinated and sloppy.

This would do nicely. Linderman slid a hand up to cradle Peter’s head as he kissed him back. There was something in Peter that put Linderman in mind of Angela, before she’d learned to school her emotions entirely. He broke the kiss. “Shoes,” he said. Peter kicked off his shoes while Linderman removed his jacket and laid it over the back of the couch.

Then Linderman pressed Peter back down onto the couch and went to work unfastening his pants. Peter just watched him, taking short, shallow breaths. Linderman pulled Peter’s jeans down and off and let them drop to the floor as he took in the sight of the swollen head of Peter’s erection peeking out through black silk boxer shorts.

“You feel too much sometimes, don’t you Peter,” he said. Peter really was his mother’s child. Linderman hooked his fingers into the sides of Peter’s boxers and pulled them down slowly. Once free of its confines, Peter’s cock slapped against his belly, dark and throbbing. Linderman couldn’t help himself. He had to touch it. He ran a finger gently from the tip down to the root, and Peter shivered in response.

“You are truly an exquisite creature, Peter Petrelli.” Linderman pulled him to his feet, and Peter lurched against him, boneless and clumsy. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He guided Peter with him to a leather armchair across from the couch. He turned Peter around and sat, pulling Peter down into his lap. Peter leaned back against him, completely pliant. He let Linderman manhandle him, pulling his legs up and over the chair’s arms, spreading him wide.

Linderman hummed in satisfaction as Peter’s naked ass pressed against him, causing his already hard cock to twitch inside his pants. It was his hotel, after all, so he knew where the cameras were hidden, knew the best way to arrange Peter so his face would be clearly visible on the tape. “You really shouldn’t make this so easy,” he whispered in Peter’s ear. “Your self-destructive tendencies are going to get your family into trouble someday.”

Linderman slid his fingers into Peter’s mouth. “Get them wet.” He sucked listlessly until Linderman stroked his fingers across Peter’s cock. Then his mouth clamped down hard, not biting, just sucking vigorously as Linderman touched him.

He pulled his fingers out of Peter’s mouth and placed them at the entrance to his ass. “Just relax.” He pushed his two fingers in, slowly but firmly. Peter pulled a way a little, but Linderman stilled him by tightening a hand over his balls. Once he’d breached the first ring of muscle, it was relatively easy to slide in deeper.

Peter’s ass squeezed around his fingers deliciously, and the sound that escaped him—a breathy groan—sent a shiver of pleasure through Linderman. He had a harem of show-girls at his disposal and enough resources to buy any type of indulgence he wanted, but still, no one was ever as alluring to Linderman as the Petrelli family. And this, Peter writhing naked on his lap, was the most perfect prize he could have asked for in his game with the other Company founders. He couldn’t wait longer to enjoy it. He pulled his fingers free and quickly unbuttoned his pants, pulling his leaking cock out and settling it against Peter’s ass.

“Up,” he said, tapping Peter on the hip.

Peter’s hand was moving over his dick, pumping it slowly as his breath came in short little gasps. “Yeah. Yeah,” he said. Linderman couldn’t be sure he was answering the question, or that he’d even heard him.

“Come on, up you go,” Linderman said, and this time Peter seemed to understand, and braced his hands against the arms of the chair to push himself up.

Linderman guided his cock into Peter’s ass, barely slick, and wrapped his arm around Peter’s waist to pull him down further.

Peter gasped and shuddered. He was too drug-weakened to hold himself up, so he began to slide back down, impaling himself on Linderman’s cock, unable to stop. Peter’s head fell back against Linderman’s shoulder. His breathing had become a series of quiet little moans. When he’d finally slid all the way down, his ass stretched beautifully around the base of Linderman’s cock. Peter’s bare skin was hot and sweaty against Linderman’s shirt.

“That’s good, Peter,” Linderman whispered. He took Peter’s hand in his and guided it to Peter’s cock. “You can touch yourself.” Peter nodded wordlessly and returned to pumping his cock.

Linderman pushed him forward a little, the better to have his expressions captured by the camera. Peter couldn’t move much in this position, but Linderman wrapped his hands around Peter’s waist and pulled him up a little, bouncing him up and down on his lap.

Peter’s moans became grunts as he was fucked. “More, please, yeah,” Peter chanted. Linderman smiled. It seemed the boy was no stranger to this type of treatment. And he was putting on such a wonderful show. Linderman slammed Peter down harder onto his cock. He was so close—Peter’s voice was driving him to the edge faster than he’d thought possible.

“Please, Nathan, yeah,” Peter moaned, and then he jerked back against Linderman as his orgasm hit him.

Linderman lasted just a few strokes more, coming into Peter’s tight ass even as his mind was reeling. He couldn’t have asked for more tonight; Peter was everything he’d imagined.

Peter collapsed against him, panting, and Linderman held him, idly letting his hand drift through the streams of come on Peter’s belly. Yes, he would certainly enjoy showing Peter’s older brother this tape. His plans for the future were shaping up nicely.


End file.
